In The Darkness Of Night
by Lollipop456
Summary: AU. WARNING: Possible Mary-Sue. First-person POV. Marie, a widowed ballet dancer, returns to dance and is shocked when the women of the ballet are killed. Believing that the accused Erik is innocent, they set out together to prove so. ErikxOC.
1. Chapter 1

I felt a stabbing sensation in my chest. It was as though a knife had been plunged into my heart, digging deeper and deeper in.

"Madame Renaud?"

I looked up at the physician; he was an older gentleman, as evident by his graying hair and beard. Until this moment, I was certain that he would be able to find a form of treatment for Gaspard.

"There is no cure for consumption. You had done what I instructed, taking him to Brittany for the fresh air."

"I would have insisted he stay, Monsieur, but he grew sicker and sicker and then he begged to return to Paris."

I had to pause to collect myself; I could already feel warm tears run down my cheeks.

"He had told me that he wished to die in his own bed. Our bed."

It was then the physician reached over from where he sat across from me and took my hand. Our eyes met, and he seemed just as sad as I did.

"You have done what you could. No one can ask more."

I nodded and wiped my tears with my free hand. "I wish to see him. I must be with him now."

The physician said nothing and released my hand. I stood quickly and strode into the bedroom that Gaspard and I shared.

I had grown use to seeing Gaspard look poorly. But at this moment, I truly took in his appearance; for now, I no longer had the optimism that I had. Now, with his pale skin and tired eyes, Gaspard truly looked as though he was dying.

"Gaspard?" I whispered.

At first, it seemed as though he didn't hear me, he just kept his gaze focused on the ceiling. As I moved closer to the bed, he finally turned his head towards me.

"Marie, you're here." He said, but his voice was hoarse & weak.

"Yes, mon amour (my love), I am here."

With a frail hand, he gestured for me to come closer and I did. As I often as I had done in our 10 years of marriage, I laid my head on top of his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Only now, what was once so strong and steady, had become weak and slow.

"Gaspard, you must not leave me."

"Leave you? I'm laying here, aren't I?"

I raised my head slightly and looked at Gaspard, who was smiling. Although it was hard to tell, with my eyes filling with tears and clouding my vision.

"I know what will soon happen, Marie, but I'm not afraid. There is no reason to fear death. I will be at peace."

"Yes, you will." I took his hand and squeezed it gently. "But I will miss you. You are the most cherished person in my life."

Gaspard used his thumb to brush away my tears, and my vision cleared. Now, I could see clearly that he was indeed smiling. But it was in his eyes that I saw something; it was not sadness or fear. It was concern.

"What troubles you?" I asked.

Gaspard sighed. "Nothing. I am content."

"Gaspard, please tell me. I see that you are worried. When your time comes, I don't..."

Gaspard shushed me and laid his palm against my cheek. I kissed his hand, while my nose inhaled his scent. It was a mixture of soap and yarrow. In spite of knowing what was to come, I could not help but smile at the memory of Gaspard surprising me every morning with red yarrow: my favorite flower in the world.

"If I tell you what troubles me, you will be angry."

"Angry?" I felt my eyes grow wide. "Mon amour, I could not be angry with you. Not now, not ever."

He coughed and blood dripped out of his mouth; I thought quickly and wiped it away with my sleeve. Once it seemed the coughing had ended, Gaspard looked up at me again.

"Do you remember how we met, Marie? You were sixteen at the time, and I was nineteen."

I nodded. "Yes. I was a ballet dancer and you were a painter. One day, when I was dancing, you spoke to me and requested permission to paint my portrait."

"Do you remember why?"

I shrugged. "You had said that you had never seen someone dance as well as I had."

"That was true. You were selected to star in Giselle that year. Afterwards, nothing could stop you. You were famous then."

"That was 12 years ago. I've given up dancing since, to be your wife. Believe me, Gaspard, that is something that I do not regret."

Gaspard brought his hand to my hair and stroked it gently. "That is a mutual feeling, but Marie...When I am gone...You must promise me something."

"Anything."

"Promise me that you'll dance again? That from Heaven, I will look down and see you smile when an audience requests an encore."

"Gaspard-"

"I want to see you happy, Marie! I don't want you to waste your life away behind a closed door and wait to join me. I want you to live and dance."

He had said this with such force, that I was afraid he would work himself into another fit. Not wishing to upset him further and knowing this was his last wish, I managed to nod my head.

"Marie...My beautiful dancer."

With no warning, Gaspard stopped breathing and those eyes, those empty brown eyes, have become engraved in my memory.


	2. Chapter 2

Gaspard was buried the next morning. I cannot describe the pain that I felt that day; watching as mounds of dirt were piled on top of my beloved. Realizing that soon he would be nothing but food for worms and maggots. No longer my Knight in shining armor, but a man who would be nothing but bones and, centuries from now, a pile of dust.

Bile ran through my throat and burned it while I thought these horrible thoughts. Soon, I was asked to drop the rose that I had clutched in my hand into the grave. I did so as quickly as possible, no longer able to tolerate looking at my husband's corpse.

I returned home with Gaspard's brother Armand. He was chosen to watch over me in my time of need. As soon as I had removed my shawl, I went to the bedroom and began searching for something that I had hidden years ago. My ballet slippers.

"What are you doing?"

I looked up after searching through my drawers and saw Armand standing at the door.

"I am looking for my slippers. The ones that I used for ballet."

"Why should you want to find them?" Armand asked.

"Because tomorrow morning I intend to audition for a ballet at the Palias Garnier."

Armand chuckled. "You can't be serious, Marie. You are in mourning."

"I've no time to grieve for Gaspard, not when I made him a promise."

"You mean to say that you promised Gaspard that you would return to ballet?"

I nodded. "Yes, I do."

"Marie, don't you realize how silly that is? You are 30 years old and now you are a widow. The thought of someone choosing you to dance is absurd at best."

I square my shoulders. "I have kept myself in excellent health, and I do not have intentions of breaking my promise to Gaspard."

Even though Armand looked as though he wanted to argue with me, he instead left the room, huffing and puffing like a chimney.

When I left the next morning, Armand did not see me off, his anger and inability to understand the situation had forced to stay inside the house and sulk like a child.

I had heard many good things about the Palais Garnier and a legend to about a man who called himself The Phantom Of The Opera. Exciting as it seemed, the legend was more like a morbid fairy-tale than actual fact. That said, the house itself was beautiful and larger than I had expected. What fascinated me the most was the chandelier, swaying slightly with gold and silver.

Onstage, there seemed to be a rehearsal in process. If my assumption was correct it was La Slyphide that was being performed. I had never performed in it myself, but it was said to be a marvelous ballet. Not wishing to disturb anyone, I took a seat and waited for the rehearsal to finish. Once the stage had cleared, I approached the conductor who told me that I would need to speak to Madame Dupont; the director of the production.

She was a thin, old woman with graying hair and who leaned heavily on a cane. Perhaps the only attempt to hide her age was her bright, red dress that revealed her sagging cleavage. I reluctantly approached her, and she smiled at me, revealing several gold teeth and gaping holes where teeth had been.

"Good evening, Madame. My name is Marie Renaud, and the conductor said that I should speak with you if I wish to audition."

Madame Dupont's smile disappeared and she frowned. "I had thought you to be someone who would assist me."

For a moment, Madame Dupont studied me and then her smile returned which was followed by a light chuckle.

"What is funny, Madame?" I asked.

"Forgive me, child, but how old are you?"

I looked towards my feet. "I'm thirty, Madame."

"I had thought forty. I hope you won't find me offensive, my dear, but you've tired eyes, thin legs, and frail hands."

Did I really seem old? I had thought that my appearance was well-kept over time. Perhaps that was nothing but the delusions of time long past. Nonetheless, no matter how I looked, I could not give up. I had promised Gaspard.

"Madame, I beg you to let me audition. No matter what role I receive I will accept, as long as I am able to dance. Please, allow me to prove myself."

"You're simply too old, child."

I nodded. "I understand."

I turned to leave. I knew well it was a lost cause, because I was no longer young. Armand would be gloating for some time.

"Madame, what did you say your name was?" Madame Dupont asked.

I turned back to Madame Dupont. "My name is Marie Renaud."

"Would that be the name you were given at birth?"

"No, Madame. I was born Marie Brodeur."

Madame Dupont gasped and rushed up to me. "Marie Brodeur! The Great Brodeur! Oh, forgive me for not recognizing you. When you told me your name, I had thought it was your birth-name."

"Well, I've been married."

"Ah, so that is why you disappeared from the stage."

I shrugged. "One cannot help falling in love, I suppose."

"Indeed. So, where is your husband?"

"He died two days ago, Madame. He had battled with consumption, and had finally lost."

"Oh, how unfortunate. That does explain your dress."

"I had promised him that I would return to the stage to dance. It was his final wish."

Again, Madame Dupont was frowning. "You cannot expect me to sympathize, my dear. My dancers require skill, not the dying promise of their husbands."

I clenched my hands into fists, but I was in public. If I hit Madame Dupont, it would certainly cause a spectacle. I refrained myself and gave a deep sigh.

"Madame, if I do not audition for the promise that I made to my beloved Gaspard. Then allow me to audition because of my past. You know well who I am, allow me to prove that age has not altered my talent."

Madame Dupont looked me up and down. "You'll have to change out of your mourning attire."

I nodded quickly, thanked Madame Dupont profusely, and rushed backstage. When I entered the women's changing room, I was instantly greeted by a mix of foul stares and quiet snickers. I do not exaggerate when I say that these dancers were much younger than me, some were no older than fifteen.

"Who allowed a crone into our dressing room?" I heard one dancer whisper.

I ignored the insult and changed out of my black gown and into a bodice and a muslin skirt. I felt terrible for changing out of my mourning attire. Because I was not out of mourning, I had even scarcely begun to grieve. I was mourning Gaspard, and always would. Grabbing a black, lace handkerchief out of my dress pocket, I stuffed it into my skirt. Naturally, I was laughed at by the dancers.

"When you love someone deeply, you will understand." I said.

I knew my tone was sharp with the dancers. But they were young women, no they were girls, having not an inkling of what true love was. One day they would understand what it meant to be in love, but it would not be for years.

I stepped onto the stage, and asked if the conductor would be willing to play a piece from "La fille mal gardée." It was a wonderful ballet, one of the first I had ever played a starring role. Once the music started, I began to dance; immersing myself into my talent. No one was there, only me and the stage. I twirled, I leaped, I did what I was meant to do.

"Bravo, Madame! Bravo!" I heard someone say.

I could hear applause and stopped dancing. I hadn't even heard the music end. I wasn't even sure if I had done well, I hardly felt anything. The only thing I heard was my labored breathing and my racing heart.

"Madame Renaud," Madame Dupont stepped onto the stage and took my hands. "welcome home."


	3. Chapter 3

I hadn't recalled rehearsals being so grueling, so tiresome. When I was sixteen, I had such energy and my muscles were hardly ever sore. It wasn't until rehearsal ended and I looked at the sores developing on my feet that reality soon took hold and made me realize: I was not sixteen anymore. I wouldn't ever be sixteen again. Time only moves forward, not backward.

I sighed in defeat. "Well, I never thought it was going to be easy."

Before I knew it, the dressing room was filled with ballet dancers, all rushing to gather their belongings and leave. I noticed that one girl was lagging behind, taking her time in gathering her stuff. She still wasn't done by the time the dressing room had cleared.

"What is your name?" I finally asked.

The girl turned to me. "Madeline."

"A pleasure, Madeline. My name-"

"No need for an introduction. You are the Great Brodeur. I know many here seem to hate you, but they simply know of your past and feel threatened."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Threatened? I may still be able to dance, but your friends have time on their side. I don't."

Madeline looked down at my feet and frowned. "You should soak them. In cold water."

"Thank you, Madeline. I will."

I managed to stand and gathered up my slippers. "I should be going."

"Goodnight, Madame."

I smiled again and left Madeline alone in the dressing room. I didn't know how exhausted I was, until I collapsed on the parlor sofa.

When I woke the next morning, I dressed as quickly as possible and went to the opera house. The first I noticed was the lobby was swarming with policemen, interviewing many of the stagehands and a few dancers. There was even more officers in the dressing room, and a small group of dancers huddled in a circle. What were they possible looking at?

"It's horrible! Who would do such a terrible thing? She was such a good person!" I heard the dancers say.

As the crowd broke apart, I finally saw why the police was here and what everyone was looking at. Laying in a pool of blood, with bruises and lacerations on her body, was Madeline. With her pale skin and vacant stare at the ceiling, even a child would recognize that she was dead.


	4. Chapter 4

Seeing Madeline's corpse, I could hardly keep my bearings and felt extremely ill. I rushed from the dressing room and retreated all the way to the grand staircase, where there was less commotion and I was able to regain myself.

Just as the nausea from the experience had passed, a young man in a police uniform approached me. I assumed that he was young anyway, as he had no beard or a trace of gray in his black hair, and he appeared to be physically healthy.

"Are you Madame Renaud?" The man asked.

"I am. Is there something wrong?"

The man smiled gently. "Nothing is wrong, Madame. I am Inspecteur Chaput, and I was sent to fetch you. You see, the Inspecteur principal wishes to speak with you privately."

"With me? For what reason?"

"It is procedure, Madame, I assure you. Inspecteur Villeneuve wishes to ask you questions, as you had been the last one to see the victim alive."

I sighed. "Very well."

Inspecteur Chaput helped me to my feet and showed me to the office of the manager, where he told me the interview would be conducted. When I stepped into the room, I saw a stocky gentleman in a uniform similar to Chaput's, with a full gray beard and balding head. He stood from his seat when he saw me, and gave a slight bow.

"Madame Renaud, I am Inspecteur Louis Villeneuve."

I curtsied. "A pleasure, Inspecteur."

He gestured to the sofa and I took my seat there. He sat behind the manager's desk and folded his hands in front of him.

"I take it, you have viewed the body of Madeline Tremblay?" The Inspecteur asked.

"I have, monsieur."

With a quick gesture of Inspecteur Villeneuve's head, Inspecteur Chaput stepped out of the room and closed the door.

"I am certain it must have been a great shock." The Inspecteur said.

I turned my attention back to Inspecteur Villeneuve. "It was, monsieur. It is something that I hope to never see again."

"I have no doubt of that. Now, you were the last person to see the victim alive?"

"That is what I've been told, Monsieur. I can't be sure that Madeline spoke with someone else when I left."

The Inspecteur leaned back in the chair. "Then you spoke with her?"

"Briefly, Inspecteur. It was after the other dancers had gone, and she, as well as I, were still left to gather our belongings. She paid me a compliment, gave me advice about the sores on my feet, and then I left."

"So, the girl was still in the dressing room?"

"Yes, monsieur."

It was after I said this, that I came to realize a horrible truth. Would Madeline be alive if I had stayed behind with her? She was still a young girl, and I had not even thought of leaving her alone backstage. Where drunken stagehands could easily linger and find her, or where robbers could sneak in and murder their witness. Even if I hadn't been the murderer, I felt like an unintentional accomplice.

Apparently sensing my guilt, the Inspecteur gave me a smile and shook his head. "Do not blame yourself, Madame. You could not have known this was going to happen."

I nodded, but the Inspecteur's words did little to ease my guilt. "Have you any more questions, monsieur?"

"Yes. Had the girl exhibited any strange behavior? Any sort of uneasiness?"

I shrugged. "I wouldn't know, Monsieur. I've only been a dancer here for a week, and I never knew Madeline before this. She was more a stranger, than a friend."

"I see. Very well, madame, you may leave."

I stood to leave and headed for the door. It was just as I reached for the handle that a realization struck me. Whoever had killed Madeline might do so again, and the sooner they were caught then the sooner that safety would be restored to the opera house.

"Monsieur," I turned back to the Inspecteur. "Have you any suspects?"

"Only one, Madame. Many of the stagehands, dancers, and singers have placed the blame on someone they call The Phantom of The Opera."

I shook my head. "You cannot possibly believe them."

"Why not?"

"Because surely he does not exist. From what I've been told, he's nothing but a myth. A figment of imagination."

"Perhaps so, but is most important is that I follow every lead. As of now, this phantom is our only one."

I said nothing and left the office. I was angry with the Inspecteur for even buying into the legend, which was likely started by clumsy stagehands who wanted someone to blame for accidents. Well, no matter what the Inspecteur thought, I was surely going to do something to find Madeline's murderer.


End file.
